Things Left Unsaid
by Fififjonka
Summary: Jimmy hurts himself late at night and pays a visit to the only man he trusts. And they end up sharing much more than they thought. Thomas/Jimmy. One shot. Prequel to "Stand By Me." Read&Review, please!


Jimmy hissed when the knife slid down his index finger, the sharp pain waking him up from his thoughts.

"Damn!"

He looked down at the wound in shock. It was bleeding rather badly and the blood had already poured over the chopping board and the loaf of bread he so unwisely wanted to eat when hunger struck him a moment ago. He didn't know what to do in the momentary confusion, scared by the blood falling on everything around as he moved.

It was late evening and he was alone in the kitchen. He didn't have to be a doctor to see he needed stitches and he didn't have to be a genius to know he would never stick himself up alone. He took a tea towel and wrapped it around the cut. It hurt like hell.

He thought about who he could ask for help but that didn't take too long. There was, in fact, only one person thinkable. For a reason yet unclear to him, the option of Thomas Barrow seemed the least painful to him. Somehow he knew Thomas would never mock him or laugh at him for being clumsy with a knife. Which was funny – considering how he would definitely mock or laugh at everybody else.

Jimmy walked to the staff rooms, sighing before knocking on Thomas' door.

"Yes…" he heard from the inside and he opened the door.

"Jimmy?" Thomas was sitting in an armchair by his bedside lamp, reading a book. He gave him a look of genuine surprise but not annoyance over his late intruding.

"Mr Barrow? May I… bother you for a while?"

"Of course," Thomas said, placing the book aside and getting up. He tied up the belt of his dressing gown, gesturing him to enter. Jimmy had actually never seen him in a dressing gown before. He looked completely different without his stern servant uniform and flawlessly combed hair. Suddenly he was much more approachable and _much more human_ …

"What brings you here so late?"

Jimmy showed him his hand. Thomas frowned.

"Oh, that looks deep," he muttered with concern as he took the towel away.

"You'll need stitches."

"I know," Jimmy said. "But I didn't want to go to the doctor."

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

"You want _me_ to do it?"

"I thought you'd know how to," Jimmy said. " _Please_ … I promise I won't cry."

Thomas smiled slightly. It was funny what change such a small smile could do with him.

"Alright then," he said. "Wait here; I'll bring what's necessary."

He sat him down to the armchair he had just vacated and left. Jimmy waited with the towel pressed against the wound, looking around. There wasn't much the room could tell about Thomas. Everything was clean and perfectly tidy but Jimmy didn't feel much warmness in it, quite the contrary, it gave him the feeling of coldness. He didn't see a single personal thing – a stupid gift from a friend, a horrible-looking sweater from grandma, not even a picture. One would say Thomas Barrow was completely alone in his world. He must have been feeling lonely often. Jimmy realized he didn't like thinking about it.

Thomas came back in a couple of minutes, carrying a first aid kit and a small pot with boiling water, putting it everything on the table and sitting opposite to Jimmy. He took his arm and stretched it towards him. He removed the towel then and Jimmy breathed through his teeth.

"Damn…" he uttered. "Looks like I cut it off completely."

"It'll be fine, trust me," Thomas said.

"I do," Jimmy mumbled. "That's why I came."

Thomas gave him a quick look before lowering his eyes back to the wound.

"This may hurt…" he said. "But I'll do my best to do it quickly."

Jimmy bit his lower lip as Thomas cleaned the wound with disinfectant. New blood kept pouring out the wound as Thomas gently took Jimmy's hand and examined it.

"Three stitched will be just fine…"

He took the needle out of the pot he boiled it in and poured some disinfectant on it as well. He took the catgut then, passing it through the needle. He hesitated for the briefest moment but went on then, piercing Jimmy's skin.

Jimmy didn't make a sound. The pain wasn't all that bad in the end. And there was something about Thomas' skilfulness that fascinated him so he watched him work and didn't think about the pain at all. He truly was gentle with him, not causing any more pain than was absolutely unavoidable. And he was right – it didn't take more than a few minutes and Jimmy was sitting there with a not-bleeding finger treated with three neat, perfectly identical stitches.

"Wonderful," Jimmy said with honesty as Thomas put the needle down, wiping blood from his fingers.

"I would rather bandage it for tonight," Thomas said. Jimmy nodded and watched him do it. When he finished it was almost midnight.

"Thank you, Mr Barrow," Jimmy said. "I knew who to come to."

Thomas was clearly abashed but couldn't hide a flattered smile.

"You're welcome," he said, tidying the table. "You know that."

"Yes, I do…"

"Would you fancy a quick goodnight drink?" Thomas asked and Jimmy nodded.

"That would be great. What do you have?"

"Well…" Thomas walked over the small cabinet and bowed, looking inside.

"I have Glenlivet, a terrible _something_ from the local distillery and _Courvoisier_ …"

Jimmy's eyebrows flew up instantly.

"Courvoisier?" he repeated, not even close to Thomas' perfect French pronunciation.

"What exactly is your salary?" Jimmy asked, bewildered. "Or are you blackmailing someone?"

Thomas took the bottle out, looking at the label with small creases on his forehead.

"It was a gift from my sister. For my thirtieth birthday."

"She must really like you," Jimmy said. "That's quite an expensive goodnight drink."

"I don't drink it often," Thomas said. "That's perhaps why I don't get much of goodnight sleep."

He fell silent immediately, realizing he'd said more than intended.

"You don't sleep well?" Jimmy asked before Thomas could change the subject.

"No, not particularly," Thomas said, rummaging unnecessarily long in the small cabin while looking for glasses. He poured the dark cognac into them and handed him one.

"But who does anyway," he dismissed it with a fake smile.

Jimmy took a sip of the cognac and hummed with appreciation.

"Seems to me I'll have to cut my fingers much more often…" he said, looking up as Thomas snorted, amused.

"Oh, there's still some blood on your –"

But as Jimmy reached to touch the blood spot on Thomas' upper arm, Thomas moved away from him. Jimmy's arm froze in half of the movement.

"I'm sorry; I just wanted to show you…"

"No, I'm sorry," Thomas said quickly. "I shouldn't have overreacted like that."

Jimmy watched him for a moment.

"You don't like someone touching you?"

Thomas shot him a suspicious look with his eyes narrowed slightly.

"You don't have to answer," Jimmy said. "It's a personal question."

"That's fine," Thomas said. He took a sip from his glass, frowning at the chocolate-coloured liquid. He didn't lift his eyes when he spoke.

"It keeps reminding me the past," he said then. "Not a very pleasant one."

"A bully?"

"Something like that… Only closer to the family."

"Oh…"

Jimmy gave him an uneasy look but Thomas wasn't looking at him.

"I –"

"Don't," Thomas stopped him, meeting his look. He shook his head. "Don't say it. Pity is something I would never tolerate."

"I know you wouldn't," Jimmy said. "You really don't look like it."

"I take that as a compliment," Thomas said.

"That's how I meant it," Jimmy said. He was used to speaking primarily about himself. He didn't have the patience nor the interest in listening to someone else's ramble. But when it came to Thomas, he wanted to know _more_. He wanted to ask questions. And that itself was pretty weird.

"And for your information," Jimmy said. "I actually wanted to say I admire people who fight things like that. Who don't give up but go against it and don't mind if they get hurt on the way."

Thomas laughed shortly.

"You mean me? That's too kind of you."

"You put yourself down too much, Mr Barrow."

Thomas watched him with his eyes glimmering softly. He seemed almost touched. Jimmy couldn't believe it was the same person scolding everyone from dawn till dusk. What was _he_ any different? Why did Thomas treat him so nicely? And never before had he noticed how _handsome_ he actually was. Jimmy blinked. What the hell was he thinking about?

"I'm Thomas," he said then. Jimmy smiled.

"Fine, I like that."

He finished his drink and was surprised he wouldn't mind another one. But it was too late.

"I'll better go," he said and got up. "I've been bothering you long enough."

"Don't worry about it," Thomas said, also getting up from his armchair. "I told you I don't sleep much."

"Yes… Well… Thank you, Thomas. Thank you a lot for helping me tonight."

"You can come anytime," Thomas said. Jimmy nodded. His eyes lingered on Thomas' face for a bit longer, though, and suddenly he didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave him. Leaving him was – in fact – a truly disturbing thought. Thomas' expression was difficult to decipher too and there was a strange kind of sadness in the way he smiled at him.

"Good night, Jimmy," Thomas said, patting the side of his arm briefly. Jimmy had no explanation for the goosebumps Thomas' touch gave him.

"Good night, Thomas. See you in the morning."

"Right," Thomas said. "Do you want me to place this on the kitchen table?"

He waved the bloodied towel.

"So we could have some fun?"

Jimmy laughed.

"No, rather not. I think Mrs Patmore wouldn't have to survive."

Thomas held the door opened for him, saying good night once again before Jimmy was left in the empty, silent corridor. He was tired, had his finger cut and stitched up and had a glass of strong and delicious cognac. So why the hell was he completely awake and _nervous_?

Why the hell was the only thing he could think of _Thomas_ , alone in his room?

* * *

 **Hope you liked and let me know! Thanks! To be continued in "Stand By Me."**


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